


Snap

by Ephy



Series: Truce verse [2]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Pit insanity, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 14:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5669131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ephy/pseuds/Ephy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Standing on a rooftop, Jason glared at the walls, the alleys, the few passer-by. Nothing was happening. Not enough, anyway. He had been playing the good kid soldier for a week now and he felt like he couldn’t breathe.<br/>Interlude set between chapters 1 and 2 of Truce for the Cowl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snap

Standing on a rooftop, Jason glared at the walls, the alleys, the few passer-by. Nothing was happening. Not  _ enough _ , anyway. He had been playing the good kid soldier for a week now and he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

His helmet helped, kept him grounded, real and cold against his face. Yet – rage was bubbling up his throat. He needed to… needed to…  _ punch _ .  _ Kill _ . But Bruce was… Bruce wasn’t there. He couldn’t…

Then he heard a shout, spotted a pimp grabbing one of his girls harshly, hand raised…

Jason blinked. There was no wind anymore, no sky above his head. What… He looked around, stumbling forward. Wait. He knew those walls, this place…

He was back at his flat.

He inhaled sharply. His muscles were hurting but relaxed. He felt… good.  _ Better _ .

His knuckles were bloody.

Shit. Shitshitshit.

He staggered toward his couch, feeling the need to touch, to grab. He didn’t make it, collapsing to the ground instead. The cold concrete against his face was a relief.

Bits and pieces of memories flashed in his mind. He had grabbed the pimp, smashed his head on the asphalt. Then again. Then again. Then he had punched the hell out of him – his face, his abdomen, some on his crotch. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. He had… had he broken the rule?

He concentrated, forcing the memories back. And exhaled, because a scream had made him pause. It was the girl; he had a soft spot for them. She had (foolishly) grabbed his arm, begging him to stop. Because it came from her, he had let go, tossed her his phone so she would call 911, and left.

Jason opened his eyes. His whole body was shuddering. He forced himself back on his feet anyway, reaching for the computer. He had to check, to make sure the guy survived.  _ Please _ .

He grit his teeth at the realization that he was begging for that fucking worm of a pimp to be alive. Yet here he was. He used his access to reach the Batcomputer system and checked for police reports of aggression in the area. Thankfully, the girl  _ had _ called 911; the guy had ended up at West Mercy Hospital. Alive.

Jason moaned with relief. He might be a bit feverish yet.  _ Damnit _ .

He dragged himself to the couch – the bed was way too far away – and curled on it as much as possible so this damn gigantic body of his would fit. To think there’d been a time when he’d been the shortest of his class.

Then he forced himself to breathe. In. Hold. Out. Hold. In. Hold. Out… The regular rhythm helped. He could focus better. Now, he felt his hands hurting. Where were his damn gloves? He scanned the room and saw them on the ground, next to the door, along with his helmet. He must have removed them when arriving.

Maybe he should take a shower. He might be able to handle it; the water helped. Most of the time.

He didn’t want to move, but he had to. When the others would learn what he’d just done, they’d probably want an explanation – and he couldn’t be in this state when they’d contact him. No. Way. He wasn’t  _ weak _ . He didn’t need their  _ help _ . He was  _ fine _ .

Strong with this fact, he forced his limbs to move, removing his clothes on his way to the bathroom. He left the door open and didn’t close the shower curtain; no need to force another trigger by getting himself in such a small space.

The hot water did help. Then it ran out. Not a problem; the cold water helped as well. He stood there, ignoring his body shudders.

His phone started ringing.

This wouldn’t be the others; they’d use his com link instead. Or did they try, and failed, because he’d still been out?

He stepped out of the shower and steeled himself. He grabbed some jeans to put on as an afterthought. He didn’t need to find himself naked while talking to one of the bats. The replacement at least ought to have hacked into his security system.

“Yeah?”

“Are you alright?”

He hadn’t expected a feminine voice, but he should have.

“Talia,” he sighed.

“Sit on that horrible couch of yours. You need to breathe.”

“I’m fine.”

“Then you won’t mind doing as I tell you?” she suggested with the hint of a smile in her voice.

She had too much of a hold on him. He could handle himself just fine anyway.

He sat.

“There. Happy?”

“It seems like the shower snapped you out of it. Do you however realize how cold you are?”

As she said it, he started feeling it. The bare flat had heating but he hadn’t turned it on, and the icy water was still dripping on his chest.

“I feel it perfectly fine, thank you for that,” he cursed at her.

“Do remember to treat your hands.”

“I don’t need  _ mothering _ , Talia.”

She hummed in approval.

“Less and less so. I shall call again after they are done with you. I might also send you someone to spar with.”

He laughed. It wasn’t a kind sound.

“Did one of your ninjas disappoint you?”

“He’s starting to think too much of himself,” she confirmed. “Goodbye, Jason.”

She hung up, not waiting for his answer. He snorted. But he did feel better.

He went to turn the heat on, then headed for the kitchenette to fix himself something to eat. He was tired but relaxed, and fully back to himself. When they’d call, he’ll be ready to face them.

**Author's Note:**

> So. Considering how Jason acts in canon at this point in time (and some others), I consider he DOES have mental problems. I'd think PTSD with some pit crazy residue.  
> Note that I have absolutely have no knowledge on the matter so apologies if it’s not realistic.  
> Also – I think Jason does believe in the mission he gave himself. He killing criminals isn’t a decision he made because of his other problems. Those are separated issues.  
> Anyway, hope you like it! :)


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